Are you ready to rumble? Not yet? Okay then. Just asking. Don’t get upset, now. Put that down. I said PUT THAT DOWN! Do it or someone’s going to get hurt. No. NO. NOOOOOOOO!!!
Ahem. Well, we won’t post any more of that exchange, as it may be upsetting to young children. (This is a FAMILY blog, friends. Fuck yes.) Welcome back to the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, where band members are listless, robots are corroding, and plant creatures are setting down new roots as we speak. (The man-sized tuber has abandoned his terrarium for a patch of ground in the courtyard. Seems he’s getting in touch with his inner gingko tree.) Yes, your friends and colleagues in Big Green have taken refuge in the same safe harbor, seeking shelter from the storm beneath the same perforated roof that has offered us a modicum of protection over the past seven years. No, it hasn’t fallen in yet. And we have hopes that that will never, ever happen. (Well…. “never, ever” is a very long time.)
We spent much of this week making a desperate effort to finish our sophomore album in time for the highly 
unreasonable release date handed down by the corporate chieftains at our label, Loathsome Prick. Then somewhere around, oh, Wednesday, Matt and John threw up their hands. (Being somewhat less original than they are, I did so as well.) It just wasn’t going to happen. Release, yes… but not October. Never October. In fact, we ran the numbers through Marvin (my personal robot assistant) and his statistical modeling analysis module started emitting greasy black smoke. (Marvin did the rest of the calculations with a pad, pencil, and 39-cent wristwatch calculator.) It seems, at our present rate of activity, we may manage a Spring 2008 release, taking into consideration the current non-alignment of the outer planets and the relative mass of the third-quarter moon. (You mathematicians know what I’m talking about.)
Well, anyway – that was Wednesday. That left two more days to figure out how we will break the news to our masters at Loathsome Prick. Mind you, we’ve had prior experience with belligerent corporate labels. Some of you may remember our detention at the hands of Indonesian military goons contracted by 
our old label, Hegemonic Records and Worm Farm, Inc. (now Hegephonic). It was not pleasant, not nearly… so you can probably understand our trepidation. Naturally, we recruited Marvin to convey the news, preferably in some kind of binary code that would take the suits at Loathsome Prick a couple of days to decipher. Marvin put the message together and sent it off via the automaton equivalent of instant messenger. We waited. At some point during the course of that afternoon, I felt a mild earth tremor. Translation complete! Sure enough, the phone rang. We gave it seventeen or eighteen rings before answering. (Let ’em think we’ve got customers.)
Well, turns out they’re okay with the postponement, on one condition. Yes, that’s right, there is a forfeit. We have to play some showcase gigs. Where? At a venue near you. So long as you live on planet Mars.
is every bit the fraud you might have expected by this point. It took some intrepid reporting by people like Big Noise Films (featured on 
From Bush’s perspective – and that of a good many other people in American political culture – that in itself wouldn’t keep Iraq from being a success of sorts. Leaders of both the Republicans and the Democrats claim to be looking for signs of “progress”, meaning the emergence of effective leadership in Iraq that is both hostile to neighboring Iran and more generally compliant with our priorities in the region. Note that I didn’t say “popular” – that’s never really been the standard for success. They only reluctantly agreed to elections in 2004 when Ayatollah Sistani insisted upon it. In his own ham-fisted way, Bush underlined this fact at his news conference the other day, complaining that everyone is asking “Where is Mandela?” Aside from the peculiar fact that junior appears to think Nelson Mandela is dead, Bush is telegraphing his administration’s lack of enthusiasm for the emergence of a truly popular Iraqi leader, as well as its skepticism that such a person exists. (Let’s also forget the fact that, remarkable as he is, Mandela was kept alive by a massive popular movement that was itself the catalyst for change, and not always in a peaceful way.)
Take five. One… two… three… quatro! No, no – stop. Wrong key, man. Totally wrong key. It’s the one around the back of the horn. You’re concentrating too much on those front keys.
I know, I know – he doesn’t know what he’s talking a-boot, right? Well… before you go there, listen up. Format doesn’t matter, friends. We’re mastering our first album in nearly ten years – a work fully four years in the making. If we got all concerned about formats, it would probably take us another four years. (Not sure this mill will be standing then.) And whether it be wire, wax, or some other widget, we’re preparing these fifteen songs for release, come hell or high water. And those of you familiar with the recording process know, this is the point in every project where you discover how far from finished you truly are. For instance, I’m having Marvin (my personal robot assistant) add a last-minute saxophone part to one song that… well… that just needed something. Something like a robot playing a saxophone. (Always helps. Just ask 
red planet. Pretty stubborn little critter. I always taunt Marvin with “Opportunity’s” record on the Martian surface – a foreboding place if ever there was one, take it from me. Anyway, Marvin’s a little sensitive about my rover-based teasing, because his brass skin is susceptible to the peculiar conditions of the Martian atmosphere. In fact, the last time we were there, we spent nearly as much time buffing the corrosion out of Marvin’s skin as we did setting up and tearing down from the gigs we played on Mount Olympus (tallest known peak in the solar system). Check it out,